Brothers, Bonds, and Bad Colds
by HighFunctioningSPNFan
Summary: Dean is sick, and Sam has to take care of him. Lame title is lame, I know. Please R&R.


**Hey, everyone! In case anyone was wondering, I have not fallen off the face of the earth. I've just been super busy studying for my finals (which have been postponed to Thursday, yay!) **

**So this story has been languishing in my "to be finished" folder for several **_**months**_** now, and I wrote it in bits and pieces, so if it's a little jerky and stuff, that's why. Sorry, I tried to smooth it out as much as I could. But I finally finished it, so I wanted to get it posted ASAP. **

**Hope you enjoy, and if you did, please leave a review telling me so! **

It's been almost a month since Sam's death and resurrection, since they killed Yellow Eyes.

And Dean's sick.

It's been coming on for several days now, Sam can tell. Even before tonight's disastrous hunt, when it had rained and the fugly of the week had gone for Sam's neck _again. _Because 9 times out of 10, ghosts, demons and ghouls will pick on Sam, instead of Dean. This one in particular packed one hell of a punch, throwing Sam clear across the cemetery, managing to knock him out.

When Sam came to, Dean was leaning over him, leather jacket draped across Sam's body. Dean was soaked through, green eyes wide and worried, a flicker of _something_ behind them. The car ride back to the motel was quiet and tense, the silence only broken by an occasional sniffle from Dean, always followed by a quick glance in Sam's direction.

Having spent most of his life in his brother's pocket, Sam's learned the tells Dean has when he's getting sick.

The last few hours have been pure hell, full of a cranky and congested Dean. If his brother was starting to get sick before, he's definitely there now. The drive to this motel alone had been enough to give Sam a splitting headache, sending him to bed early, forgoing a shower in hopes of avoiding more bitching from his older brother. Eventually, Dean's voice tapers off, and Sam guesses he must have fallen asleep, which is confirmed as light snores fill the room.

Later, Sam jerks awake, still in that comfy place between the world of dreams and reality, eyes drifting back shut. Seconds later, his eyes fly open again. His mind reels, wondering what could have awakened him.

A keening sound from Dean's bed draws his attention.

Instantly, Sam is up and out of bed, hand coming to rest on his brother's forehead.

The heat radiating onto Sam's hand is shocking.

"Dean? You okay, bro?" He doesn't really expect a coherent answer; Dean whimpers almost pathetically, burying his face into the dirty pillow with a mumbled, "Sammy."

"Dean," Sam answers, "I'm right here. This is what you get, sitting around in the rain all night without a coat on, jerk." Belatedly, he realizes that Dean is asleep, the aforementioned illness causing his restless behavior.

"Sammy, no, please." Dean moans again, tossing his head back and forth.

"What, Dean," he says, not really expecting an answer.

"Sam, don't be dead, please don't be dead," Sam gasps, icy liquid rushing through his veins; Dean's feverish, and how could Sam have forgotten?

Dean's fevers run high, always have, even when he was just a kid. They also come with nightmares -vivid, horrifying, terrible nightmares that left a young Dean screaming for his father and brother.

"Oh, god."

With that, he makes a quick dash to the ice machine, pausing only to dig through his duffel for medicine and a thermometer.

The first thing he does is take Dean's temperature; it's 104, way too high.

"Sammmmmy."

"It's okay," he soothes, trying desperately to lower Dean's fever. "I'm here."

Sam rocks back on his heels; he has no idea how he's supposed to get Dean to swallow pills in this state. Steeling himself, he starts trying to convince Dean to take the medicine.

Dean fights him, delirious and pyretic. On and off, he begs Sam to come back, to be alive, and to be okay.

What truly breaks Sam is when his strong, invincible, big brother starts to cry.

Sam does his best to calm him, uttering reassuring nonsense, while continuing to fight the fever plaguing his brother.

Hours later, Sam is beyond exhausted, leaning back against the bedframe, eyes closed. A clammy hand snakes out to thwack his head, whether by accident or not is yet to be determined.

Sam jumps, almost smacking an elbow on the nightstand. He kneels beside Dean's bed, smiling when bloodshot green eyes meet his, aware and not feverish.

"Sammy," Dean croaks, reaching out again to clutch at Sam's arm, "you're okay?" The disbelief and dawning joy in Dean's voice breaks Sam's heart.

"Yeah, Dean, I'm fine. It's you who's been sick, you jerk."

Dean says nothing, eyes searching Sam's face with something akin to wonder. His grip on Sam's wrist tightens for a moment, before he lets Sam go, a weak smile crossing his face.

When he finally speaks, he manages to sum up, in that way that only Dean can, everything he means in a single word. "Bitch."

Sam chuckles, replying, "Look who's talkin'. I'm not the one laid up.."

"Shuddup." Smiling, Sam rises and begins to walk toward his own bed.

"Wait." Sam pauses, waiting to hear what his brother has to say.

"Can you just stay over here tonight? For, uh, warmth, ya know. Cause I'm really cold."

"Whatever, Dean," but in those words, there is not impatience but love.

And in the morning, when Sam wakes, if Dean is cuddling him like a child with a giant teddy bear, he won't say anything.

At least until he needs blackmail material that is.

**Oh, I almost forgot. I've been looking for a story I read a long time ago, but I can't remember much about it, so if anyone's read it, please tell me what it's called. All I can remember is that Sam and Dean were hunting this demon/monster thing that set fires in sick peoples houses, and then it almost burned the motel down or something. Yeah, I know. Not much to go on. But if anyone's read it, or anything, just drop me a line telling me what it is. **

**Thanks!  
**

**Em  
**


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